


No Sugar

by beersforqueers



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Consensual Kink, Early season 3, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Light BDSM, Masturbation, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7121113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beersforqueers/pseuds/beersforqueers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Beauty and the Beasts, Faith and Buffy get to talking about Scott during patrol, and Faith thinks Buffy's horizons could do with a little expanding...</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Islands song "No Milk, No Sugar"
> 
> For L, because I love her and want her to get better as soon as possible. Consider this your combined post-surgery/graduation present, because even when we're on separate sides of the country, we can always come together over lesbian BDSM ;-) No pun intended.

“…when you think about him, you get that good, down-low tickle, right?”

Buffy considers this. “Yeah, I guess, but…” she realizes what Faith is saying and quirks an eyebrow at her, “How low?”

“You tell me,” Faith pushes, slowing down to face Buffy.

“He’s nice,” Buffy hedges. “And funny.”

“Quite a muffin,” Faith nudges her, dark red lips pulling taut across white teeth.

Buffy has to agree. There’s nothing _not_ to like about Scott—he’s cute, sweet, smart, and, most importantly, he seems to really like her. And he’s not evil.

Probably.

“You gonna let him get near _your_ muffin?” Faith shoots a sly glance at Buffy’s zipper, and Buffy blushes in spite of herself.

“I’m a little gun shy,” she admits.

“Then don’t let ‘em go off on you,” Faith full on grins now.

“Wha—oh my—Faith!” Buffy groans, feeling the blush spread across her whole face. It’s a good thing it’s dark in the cemetery. They’ve come to a full stop now, leaning up against headstones in the deeper shadow of the mausoleum. The moon is full, and the dark silhouettes of the trees and stone slabs feel still and tense, bathed in silvery light. The darkness feels more pressing than usual, and Buffy shivers. It’s not a _bad_ feeling—her slayer senses aren’t tingling—but it’s strange. She can’t quite place what it reminds her of.

“You have done the dirty, right, B?” Faith asks suddenly, and Buffy jumps a little.

“Of course,” she says too quickly.

“Yeah?” Faith doesn’t look convinced.

“It didn’t end well,” Buffy says stiffly.

“For you or for him?” Faith is smiling again, but there’s an edge to it now. She’s pushing just like always, but she knows she’s entered a danger zone. “Dudes always get their rocks off, but if a guy don’t know how to treat ya…” she shakes her head.

“Not the problem,” Buffy says, and hopes that’s where Faith leaves it.

Instead, Faith hops up onto the closest headstone and cocks her head to one side, eyes sliding insolently down Buffy’s body.

“Maybe,” her foot snakes out and runs down Buffy’s hip, “the problem is the kinda fucking you’re doin.”

Buffy is too surprised to move away. Her brain is interpreting this one way, and all of the rest of her is telling her that is _not_ what is happening right now.

The foot has hooked itself around the back of her thigh and is tugging her closer. Faith’s eyes are sparkling, her lips shining with reflected moonlight, her expression edging up on predatory.

“What are you doing?” Buffy asks, and her voice sounds small even to her own ears. Faith lets out a chuckle, low and warm, and reaches out to finger at a stray lock of Buffy’s hair. She winds it around her finger, looking up at her through dense black lashes. Buffy feels a flash of heat surge through her, so fast and surprising in its intensity that she feels momentarily light headed.

“If you don’t know, I ain’t gonna tell you,” Faith murmurs, and she’s reeled Buffy in close enough that her breath fans across her face. Everything smells like Faith—leather and strawberry bubblegum and a hint of smoke.

“I’m not—“ Buffy tries, but she’s having a hard time concentrating, and the words die on her lips.

“—a queer?” Faith finishes for her anyway, but her tone is gentle. “Don’t hafta be to have a good time.” She drops her hand from Buffy’s hair to her ribcage, fingers feather light, dips her head so that Buffy can practically feel the vibrations of her voice as she purrs, “Don’t mean I can’t show you a good time,” directly into her ear.

Buffy shivers. The night holds its breath.

“Ok,” Buffy whispers. She’s not sure what the hell makes her say it—why this seems like a good idea tonight, because it isn’t. It shouldn’t be. It’s just that there’s something about Faith, about her rebelliousness and her plush red lips and her cheeky grins that Buffy _wants_. She doesn’t know if it’s a jealous reaction, if it’s because she envies Faith’s general fuck-it attitude, or if it has more to do with Faith herself, that sexual charisma she cloaks herself with.

It doesn’t matter anyway. If Faith knows what she’s doing, Faith can be in charge of this. Buffy is sick of making decisions, especially good ones.

“Ok,” Faith echoes, and her smile is triumphant now. Her tongue darts out to swipe over her lower lip as she casts around the cemetery, excited brown eyes taking in the headstones and the flowers, and finally alighting on the mausoleum. “You ever fucked in a cemetery before?” she asks Buffy.

“No,” Buffy wrinkles her nose, a little put off by the idea. But then again, she’s slept with the undead. Probably now is not the time to acquire standards.

“First time for everything,” Faith hops off of the granite slab and grabs Buffy by the hand, towing her toward the tomb. “Nothin gets me as hot as slayin, so makes sense to bang in a graveyard every once in a while,” she says, directing a swift kick to the door. It bursts open, and Faith leads the way into the dark interior. “Homey,” she lets go of Buffy’s hand to strip off her jacket and tosses it carelessly across the lid of the closest sarcophagus.

Buffy feels at loose ends, unsure how to start this or where exactly it will go. She has the very original idea that she ought to be shedding clothes, but this is awkward and strange and she’s barely even _thought_ about sleeping with a woman before. And here’s Faith in front of her, lush and sensual and watching her with amusement in her sleepy brown eyes.

“You like being in control, dontcha B?” Faith prowls towards her again, slides her hands up under the collar of her jacket and pushes it down her arms. Buffy lets her. She feels frozen under Faith’s gaze, like an animal caught in a car’s beams. She has the feeling she and Faith are hurtling toward a head-on collision, but maybe if she stays still she can claim plausible deniability later.

Buffy nods in response. Her life is chaos—school and her mom and Giles and Scott and Angel and…nothing makes sense and everything is difficult and if she can exert power over even one aspect of all that insanity, she feels like she’s accomplished something. But holding it together has always taken its toll.

“How about,” Buffy’s coat hits the floor, and Faith walks her backwards, a hand on each of her shoulders, “you lose control?” Buffy’s back hits the stone wall of the crypt, and Faith’s hands are suddenly at the hem of her shirt. Her breath catches, and she wants to grab Faith, to slam _her_ into the wall, but she can’t. Faith’s fingers barely touch her skin as she grabs the fabric and pulls, sweeping the shirt up over Buffy’s head.

Buffy wonders distantly why they still haven’t kissed, but the thought seems ridiculous when Faith’s hands are warm and gentle as they cup her breasts, apparently unsurprised that she isn’t wearing a bra. Buffy’s eyes flutter closed as a rush of heat overtakes her and she arches toward Faith, who laughs again.

Of course she’s treating this like it’s no big deal. Maybe it isn’t for her.

“I think I should be in charge,” Faith’s thumbs brush over her hardening nipples, “would you like that?”

Buffy nods automatically.

“All right then,” Faith lets go of her suddenly, and Buffy’s eyes snap open. She’s disoriented, flushed, wanting _something_ but unsure how to ask for it.

Faith is over on the other side of the room, examining a set of heavy chains. She chooses one and throws it over a peg sunk into the wall above Buffy, gestures wordlessly for her to hold her arms over her head.

Buffy obeys, doesn’t even consider the possibility of _not_ doing what Faith wants, and when the manacles snap shut around her wrists, she actually moans. Faith lurches against her at the sound, eyes wide and shocked.

“Pantin’ for it already?” she recovers herself enough to smirk. “Is our perfect little slayer,” she grabs Buffy roughly by the hips and jerks their bodies flush to hiss in her ear, “secretly a slut?”

Buffy nods vigorously, unsure where her words have gone, but apparently Faith doesn’t need an answer from her. She’s undoing Buffy’s pants, sliding them down her legs along with her panties. Buffy kicks them off, suddenly ready, wanting it, hoping that Faith will touch her more. She doesn’t care where, as long as she does it right now.

“Faith,” she whines. “Please.”

“Buffy Summers is begging,” Faith straightens and strips her own shirt off. Her breasts are full and round, the nipples dark red and pert. “Well all right then.” And she seizes Buffy by the waist and kisses her.

If Buffy had imagined what kissing Faith would be like, it would have been nothing compared to the reality. Faith kisses like she means to win, licking into Buffy’s mouth without finesse or preamble, tongue plunging past Buffy’s lips like she’s intent on fucking her with her mouth alone. One hand sinks deep into Buffy’s hair, keeping her steady while the other finds her thigh, drawing her leg up so that she can grind into her. Buffy gasps against her mouth, heat pooling between her legs, and Faith bites her lip hard.

“Fuck,” Buffy groans, trying to break away, hands grabbing hold of the chains above her so that she can try to leverage herself to rut against Faith’s body. Faith’s mouth moves on, tongue laving over Buffy’s left nipple, then her right, fingers pinching and teasing at the wet peaks. Buffy manages to get a knee over her shoulder, trying to implicitly ask for what she wants, and Faith turns her head and licks a long stripe across the crease of Buffy’s thigh.

“You want me to eat you out?” Faith asks, and Buffy nods, teeth sunk into her own bottom lip. “Lick you open until you’re begging to get fucked?” Faith’s mouth hovers just out of reach, lips swollen and smudged with lipstick, hair tousled and in disarray. She looks obscene. “Or maybe…” she pulls away and Buffy’s foot drops back to the ground. “I’ll give you a show first.” She backs up until her legs hit the sarcophagus in the center of the crypt, never taking her eyes off of Buffy, who’s panting and straining against the chains. She just wants to be touched, but Faith seems to have no interest in that all of a sudden. Instead she’s undoing her own fly, tossing her pants to the floor, and sitting down on the lid. She spreads her legs, and Buffy licks her lips unconsciously.

Faith is gorgeous—her pussy wet and shining already, and she slowly draws a finger into her mouth, sucking on it until it comes out glistening. She circles it around her nipples, trails down her abdomen and finally to her clit, her back bowing as she touches herself.

“Faith,” Buffy tries to inject some command into her voice, but instead it comes out high and needy.

“Mmm, B?” Faith tosses her head back, the long column of her throat bare and milky in the reflected moonlight. It’s shocking how intensely Buffy wants to mark it up. “You don’t like the view?” she runs one finger down her pussy and back up, then slides it into herself. Cum is practically dripping down her hand by the time she follows it with another, then a third, pumping them in and out while her thumb lazily strokes over her clit. Her other hand drags her hair out of her face, her arousal belied by the way her fingers shake slightly, then travels back to her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples between her fingers.

“Fuck,” Buffy groans, watching as Faith tosses her head, her breaths coming faster, harsher, her cries louder. She hitches one leg all the way up onto the stone, and she’s so exposed—the flushed pink of her asshole, the wet lips of her pussy, her hand practically a blur between her legs as she gets herself off. Buffy licks her own lips, wanting to _taste_ her, wanting those fingers inside of herself.

She has to settle with rubbing her own legs together, thighs tense and shaking, wishing there was something close by to rub against, anything to alleviate her mounting frustration.

“You getting off on this?” Faith taunts, and her voice is deeper and raspier than usual. “You fucking slut, you thinkin about me doin this to you? You want it, dontcha? Want me to spread your legs and fuck you till you can’t walk, want me to shove you on your knees and hold you there, let you lick my pussy like ice cream? You ever felt this good with a guy?”

Buffy shakes her head—this is completely new territory; she never fucking knew it was possible to be this turned on, to want something this bad.

“Fuck no,” Faith takes a second, breathing deep, letting out breathy little moans like she’s getting close. “You don’t let go, B. That’s your problem. You fucking rode him, didn’t you? Fuckin held him to the bed and had your goddamn way? I don’t do it like that, slut. I’m gonna make _you_ beg.”

“Please,” Buffy is so ready, salivating, her thighs coated with cum already. It’s sticky and uncomfortable, but she doesn’t care, ever nerve on her body alight. She’s done with dignity and good behavior; right now all she wants is to get fucked. “Please, Faith, I’ll do anything, I want to lick your—your—“ she brings herself to say it, even though she blushes to the roots of her hair. “I want to lick your pussy, Faith,” she whispers, and that seems to push her over the edge.

She comes howling, her back arching, breasts bouncing in the cool mausoleum air, fingers still rubbing at her clit. Her hair falls, dark and heavy, over her shoulders, and Buffy wants to sink a hand into it, let Faith kiss her until her lips feel chapped and used, then shove her to her knees and force her where she most wants to be.

“You like that?” Faith is watching her closely, and Buffy nods, bites her lip again, wants to beg more, but also wants to wait for whatever _Faith_ wants. Faith is in charge. Buffy isn’t making any decisions tonight.

“C’mere, B,” Faith taunts, sliding off of the sarcophagus. Her legs are remarkably steady for just having come.

“Can’t,” Buffy whimpers, rattling her chains pitifully.

“Too bad,” Buffy presses her breasts together with both hands, makes a kissy face at Buffy and then laughs, clearly enjoying teasing her. “All of this could be yours. Should I punish you for not coming?”

“But I can’t!” Buffy wails, but a thrill goes through her—she wants to know what constitutes a punishment in this game.

“Excuses get you nowhere, Buffy,” Faith slinks closer, grabs her by the hip, twists her around so she’s facing the wall. Buffy presses her face to the cold granite to hold herself in check, waiting.

A hand cracks across her ass, hard enough to mark, and she cries out. She’s reminded of long nights of slaying, of coming home covered in tender bruises that she pushes experimentally, that she plays with as she touches herself, curious and a little ashamed when the pain gets her off faster and harder than anything else. She wants Faith to do it again, and she isn’t disappointed.

“How many you want, slut?” Faith hisses. Buffy pushes her ass back, spine curving, offering herself up.

“Whatever you want, Faith,” she moans, praying for more.

“Well if you say so,” Buffy can hear the smile in her voice.

Her hand whips back around, lands squarely where the last one did, and just keeps going. Soon her ass feels raw and stinging, but her blood is singing through her veins, her pussy so swollen she could cry from not coming, and the sound of Faith panting behind her is driving everything to fever pitch.

It feels like it’s been forever by the time Faith slows, and even then she just yanks on Buffy’s chains, pulls her back around to face her. Faith’s face is flushed and dewy, probably nothing to the mottled red mess Buffy must be, but she somehow doesn’t care.

“Want it on your back? Your knees? Like a fucking whore? You gonna spread em for me?” she asks, using her knee to nudge Buffy’s legs apart.

“Anywhere,” Buffy breathes.

“So easy,” Buffy grins, “so fucking easy for me, you little slut. I like that.” She grabs the chains from the peg and shoves Buffy toward the sarcophagus. Buffy clambers onto it awkwardly, her hands still bound, and lays out over it, hands over her head. She wants to look good for Faith—spreads her legs as far as they’ll go, heels hooked over the eges of the lids, presses her shoulders and stinging ass into the stone and pushes her breasts up into the air, knows her nipples are rosy and inviting in the gloom.

Faith can’t seem to resist, swinging up after her and planting hot, open-mouthed kisses all over her chest and abdomen. She slowly makes her way lower, tongue dragging a hot path toward her pussy, hesitating briefly over her. She breathes out, a slow gust of warm air that gets Buffy’s hips jerking up, her gasp barely stifled.

“Let me hear you,” Faith whispers, and Buffy moans unabashedly. “Good girl.”

Buffy isn’t proud of the wet rush the words send toward her pussy, but Faith apparently is, because her eyes lock onto her clit and there’s no warning before her tongue is there.

Buffy screams, oversensitive after all that time waiting, and kicks out, snapping part of the sarcophagus lid. It hits the ground with a crash, but she doesn’t care—let every vamp in town come to watch, let them see what a whore she is, this feels so fucking good she couldn’t even care anyway.

If Faith was competitive when they kissed, she’s fucking savage now. Her tongue is everywhere, sliding into her pussy, licking along her lips, lathing over her clit until she’s shaking and begging and pushing her hips frantically toward her mouth. Her hand anchors her to the lid with bruising force, and Buffy hopes they’ll still be there in the morning—5 perfect prints that she can run her fingers over in the morning, shiver and stare at until she has to go get off to them, too much to stand. The other hand joins her mouth, and soon she’s got 4 fingers in her, and Buffy didn’t know it was possible, didn’t know she could feel stretched this wide, practically ready to crack open with the tension.

It’s coiling low in her gut, spreading out to her every limb, the way Faith’s tongue is flicking back and forth over her clit, her fingers thrusting into her roughly, her hand pushing her burning ass into the hard stone.

She comes almost before she knows it’s happening, pussy wringing around Faith’s hand, moaning so loud the whole cemetery must hear, but it doesn’t matter. She’s exploding, gone, infinitely huge and a single pinpoint, everything white, nothing present but Faith’s tongue and fingers and her own cries.

She flops back against the stone, breathing hard. Faith has pulled her fingers free, shakes her wrist out like she’s just taken the fucking SAT, looking just about as bored, and presses a lazy kiss to her abdomen.

“Feelin ok, B?” she smirks, and Buffy can’t do anything but smile back.

She swings the chains up to catch Faith and haul her in for a kiss, and she can feel Faith’s grin go even wider against her lips when she whispers, “Five by five.”

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed, so if you see typos, give me a shout out! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are literally my favorite thing on this planet, THANK YOU FOR LOVING ME
> 
> Shameless self-promotion: [beersforqueers on tumblr](http://omgbeersforqueers.tumblr.com/)


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